


Happy endings

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Short, a bit angsty, happens between Adam's father showing up at the airbase and the bench conversation in episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 11:40:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20759771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Happy endings

After Adam's father drives all five of the wily children to their respective homes, it is time for the adults to bid farewell. But how do you say goodbye to someone with whom you just saved the world?

Crowley sneaks a glance at Aziraphale and finds him already looking at him with unexpected softness. His voice comes out tender for the lump in his throat.

“Lift home anyone?” 

It’s nice to pretend that he still has his car. 

“We have the scooter,” Madame Tracy reminds him kindly, “but thank you very much, dear.”

“We’ll walk. Thanks though,“ Anathema informs him.

Crowley nods.

“I could use a lift,” Aziraphale says quietly to everybody's surprise.

“Aren’t you an angel?” Anathema asks after a moment of stunned silence.

“He is one indeed, “ Madame Tracy confirms proudly. 

“Well, can you not just fly away?” Newt contributes.

Crowley’s lips curl up in a smile at the silly questions, enjoying the way they make Aziraphale squirm. 

“I’d rather not...“ He sends a pleading look in his direction,“ too many miracles for the day.” 

“Miracles?” Newt marvels.

“Is that what happened to my bike?” 

“Yes,” he admits in defeat.

“I knew it!“ 

Her face lights up with a triumphant grin. She looks eager to ask more but is interrupted by Shadwell, clearing his throat. 

“It’s getting late,” he remarks, frowning up at the darkening sky, “I think it’s best if we go.”

Madame Tracy smiles at him, then at the rest of them. 

“You're all welcome to come over for tea and biscuits someday.“

Aziraphale visibly perks up at the prospect. 

“Thank you. That would be lovely,” he says, smiling at the woman who's done so much for him in the past couple of hours.

“No, thank you. You really did save the world with your dear Crowley.“

A rosy blush paints the angel's cheeks.

“Wouldn’t be possible without you,” he mutters.

“Oh hush.”

Shadwell starts pulling her in the direction of the road but she keeps waving at them until they disappear in the hazy dusk. Soon, they hear the roar of the scooter, driving away.

Anathema and Newt follow in their footsteps. 

The moment they’re gone, Crowley becomes aware of the fatigue crushing down on him and he wobbles a bit on his aching legs. Thankfully, before he can hit the rock-hard asphalt, Aziraphale’s arms encircle his waist and hold him upright. 

“Oh dear,“ he speaks softly, “we should probably head off too.“

Crowley shakes his head stubbornly, claiming that he's fine but Aziraphale isn’t having any of it. He miracles a giant cardboard box out of thin air and packs the scattered artefacts into it without releasing his hold on Crowley.

In a split second, they appear in the village.

There’s a whole new atmosphere. The scent of garlic and parsley wafts from the kitchen windows. They can hear the gentle murmur of voices, the soft clinking of dishes and the water, running, bubbling in pots. It’s dinner time.

Aziraphale helps him to the nearest bench. Just when he’s about to stand up and move away, Crowley reaches for his sleeve, stopping him.

“Stay?”

Aziraphale looks down at him, his eyes heavy with emotion as he caresses his cheek with the tips of his fingers. He shakes his head.

“Not yet, my dear.”

Crowley nods in understanding and releases his grip. 

Aziraphale settles down on the other end of the bench, innocently folding his hands in his lap and keeping his posture ridiculously straight, as always. The familiar sight makes Crowley smile. An idea pops into his head.

“What would you say to a bottle of red?”

Aziraphale eyes him with interest.

“Are you tempting me?”

“Maybe I am.”

They exchange smiles that feel like a kiss and then Crowley’s holding a bottle of wine, handing it over to the angel with a smug grin.

Aziraphale swallows down a mouthful and closes his eyes in the process. 

“Opinion?” 

“Um,” he rolls it around on his tongue, “very delicate. You try.”

The bottle returns back to Crowley’s hand and he wastes no time bringing it to his lips, touching the very same spot from which Aziraphale drank and letting the wine slide down his throat. He can't wait to get hammered.

“So?” 

“Sweet and heady,” he comments in a serious tone, taking another sip, “burns well.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agrees.

They pass the bottle between each other a few times after that, hands brushing around the neck of the bottle and every time it happens, Crowley’s heart grows warmer.

The sun sets behind the horizon and neither of them notice. It’s very dark now. The houses remain silent as their inhabitants sleep and not even the dogs bark.

Crowley looks at the angel and wonders if it was all meant to end like this, with them together, forever dancing around each other, in hopes to find the meaning behind their celestial existence.

He might as well ask him.


End file.
